Hello! I'm Tash, and welcome to Of Time Lords, Detectives and Chambers of Secrets. Now, just in case you haven't read the summary, this is a sequel to 'Of Time Lords, Detectives and Philosophers Stones'. You should probably read that first. Also, if you haven't read the summary, this is a cross over between Doctor Who, Sherlock and Harry Potter. It is set in the Harry Potter 'verse, but with Sherlock and 'John Smith' added in.

For those of you who haven't read the first story, go forth and do that! For those of you who have, welcome back, sorry for the short interruption but aren't you glad that it only took me a week and a bit? (this is what happens when your writer counts it for CAS - leave it too long and I fail my diploma)

Anyhoo, onto our usual review replies, and thank you everyone who bothered to leave them. Also, thank you for all of you guys who stuck through Of Time Lords, Detectives and Philosopher's Stones. And thank you everyone else who is bothering to actually read this - I always get surprised when people bother to read my stuff, and I really love knowing that you guys actually are paying attention to it! Amazing stuff.

Nadinnio: I left a cliffhanger because I am evil! MWAHAHAHA! Anyhoo, hope the wait hasn't been too unbearable!

MyNameIsSara: UPDATE IS HERE!

puddingflaun: Solutions! Haha, I am not good at being cruel for long...

Kirazu Haruka: Welcome to the sequel.

me: Sherlock isn't the only smart one :)

I Deny COE: Haha, I expected people to hate my ending... hope that this sequel doesn't disappoint :D

Lilybugarini: Haha, thanks for all the reviews. I have your update, but I suggest you go to your nearest Bunnings for the superglue. And yea, I am mean to adorable little eleven year old Doctor

And now we start...

"We've scanned Godric's Hollow a million times, Mycroft," a ministry worked complained, shaking his head. "Whoever you had as a lead, they're wrong. Moriarty and John are gone. Perhaps you should accept you will never get him back."

"Jim Moriarty has taken it upon himself to make sure I know exactly how alive John is. And I am not letting this search go until I know he's dead for sure, or I know he is safe," Mycroft replied curtly.

"It's been over a month!"

"And the ministry hasn't fallen, as Jim would have wished. We are more in control. And we only have one lead, suggesting that they are here. And need I remind you that he not only has John at his disposal, but the philosopher stone?"

The man mumbled something that Mycroft pretended not to hear, before going off. Only once he was sure that nobody was watching did he allow his shoulders to slump a tad, a look of exhaustion coming over him. It had been five weeks since John had gone missing, and as much as Mycroft hated to admit it, he had grown quite fond of the boy. Smart, funny, kind and polite. And someone who could keep his younger brother under control, unlike himself. He was using all the power he had to make sure the boy was found, but so far they'd had little success. Soon, hopefully. Soon they'd find him.

John had lost track of time. It was a remarkable thing for him to have lost track of it, considering the fact that he could feel it. He could always feel it. It was always moving. And right now it was lost on him. He could just feel a bit of pain. Every time Moriarty left, he'd try to escape. Try to call on his magic. But Moriarty always kept his wand and his screwdriver in a glass case on the other side of his cell. So fragile, so close, yet out of reach. He was well and truly stuck.

Quite a bit had happened in the past five weeks. Mycroft had made it clear in the first week that he would not be working with Moriarty. That was the worst week. Due to the fact that Moriarty was communicating via photographs, he needed something that would show. By the end of the week, John had numerous broken bones, a black eye, and an almost steady stream of blood dripping out of his nose. After that first week, Mycroft had agreed. He'd made it clear that it would take a while, but he'd agreed. After that, John's imprisonment hadn't been quite as bad as before. He'd been unlocking numerous new memories - times like this from before. He knew that he'd had much, much worse times in his past, but this was different. In his memories he was the great Doctor, hero to many. Fighter, brave man who had the knowledge that all the stars had bestowed on him. And while he may have some of his memories, he most certainly wasn't the warrior. The great man who is the Doctor. No, he was just John Smith.

So every single time Moriarty entered, he felt his heart stutter. Of course, he didn't show it. He held his head high, looking at him right in the eye. Refusing to cower, to give up that part of himself. He was not allowing it, not at all. Every time, Moriarty would come down with some new game - after discovering that John was very intelligent, he had started playing games with him. They would be puzzles or challenges that were either in his favor or strongly against him. If he won, he would get a decent amount of food and water, and be left alone. If he lost... well, he was not fed. And he was most certainly not left alone.

He'd lost every game this week.

There was a scraping above him. They were in the basement of some house in Godric's Hollow. The people to whom the place belonged to had no clue that there was a basement, and Moriarty always apparated in. He was the only person who could get there. So he was surprised that there was a sound. A scraping sound. Then a more explosive one. John shut his eyes to the light that came streaming in, knowing that this must be some new game of Moriarty's. And he wasn't going to give up now. He pried his eyes open, looking into the light and the figure standing there, ready to glare. Ready to face whatever fate threw at him.

"MYCROFT!"

The yell hurt John's ears, but he realised something. It wasn't Moriarty. It wasn't him at all. No, it was Sherlock. His Sherlock!

The charm was still on him. His throat couldn't make a sound. But Mycroft was smart. And Sherlock was. And John was. And once he had his wand back, and his screwdriver... oh, he could have wept with relief.

A couple of seconds later a second figure joined Sherlock's. Slightly taller, a bit broader. The pair of them came closer and closer, and he smiled as he saw the clear faces of Sherlock and Mycroft. Right now, he couldn't imagine anyone else he'd rather be seeing.

"John! John, are you okay?" Mycroft asked, flicking his wand and making all the bindings around him fall away. Without a word, he touched his throat, and Mycroft understood. He touched his wand to his throat, and the stiffness that had been there left.

"You took your time, didn't you? Entire ministry at your disposal and you take five weeks! I even left you a clue."

The words were strong and brave, but his voice was raw and rather grumbly. He hadn't made to move anywhere, and he was thinner than usual. Not to mention the tired looked in his eyes.

"Sorry. He's smarter than we expected. Can you move?"

Mycroft watched as his brother's best friend nodded, struggling to his feet. He managed to half launch himself out of his chair, before stumbling. Sherlock and Mycroft caught him with ease, although Mycroft could feel his bones under his hands. There was little in the way of... well, anything. He was just skin and bones, now.

"I take that as a no."

"You just asked if I could move. Not if I could walk."

His eyes were drooping closed, now. Mycroft moved him so that he was holding the boy alone, and watched at the boy who had such an effective influence on his brother relaxed, slipping into a calm sleep.

"Go tell Doug that we've found him."

When John next awoke, it was in a clean white ward. He moved, feeling a bit of pain but not much. There was nobody around, and everything was awfully qui...

Bang

"Sherlock!" John yelled, loving the use of his voice, a smile flicking across his lips as he shook his head. Nobody else would be able to casually blow something up in what John assumed was a hospital. And sure enough, Sherlock came through the door, although not on fire.

"Those idiots wouldn't let me through."

"So you blew them up?"

"I didn't blow them up. I simply caused a distraction."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock would be Sherlock.

"Harry, Ron and Hermione are glad you're safe."

"I'm glad I'm safe, too."

There was a couple of beats of silence. Neither of them had done much in the way of touchy-feely stuff.

"I'm sorry. I should have known Moriarty had something like this planned."

It was the first time Sherlock had ever apologised about anything. It almost made John feel uncomfortable.

"You couldn't have known."

"Still."

"Well, I'm fine, so it's all fine."

Sherlock snorted at that. "You look like you've been caught under a stampede of Thestrals," he retorted to his friend.

"Surely I don't look that bad."

He was a tiny bit vain about his looks, and he reached up to touch his face. His arm and fingers had been healed in no time, as had most of the cuts around him face. However, there were a few injuries that wouldn't fade until they healed naturally. The cursed break in his right leg, the cut down his arm, the little thieving magpie brand on the sole of his foot. In time they'd all fade, but there was still a bit to go.

"Anyway, how are you guys going to explain to the orphanage where I've been?"

Sherlock frowned at John. "Haven't I explained that yet? You're moving in with me and Mycroft."

John was discharged later that week, having recovered remarkably quickly, although he still had to use crutches. The magical healers healers didn't quite understand the muggle contraption, but they allowed John to use after he insisted that he had seen kids at the orphanage use them and Mycroft had backed him up, knowing their use due to his familiarity of both the muggle and the wizarding wold.

John was surprised to see that all his possessions were in the room that he had at the Holme's mansion. His trunk was there, with all his books, his school robes, and the clothes that Mycroft had got him last time he'd stayed with them. He was interested to find that all his old muggle clothes that had been looking worse for wear had been removed, and there were a couple of new pinstriped suits for him.

The most surprising of all, however, was the thing that sat in the middle of his bed. Well, the two things. A broom stick, a nimbus 2001, and a kitten. A small, back thing with white paws and big blue eyes.

"Um... Sherlock! Mycroft! Why is there a cat in my room?"

He clumsily got back onto his crutches and hobbled to the top of the stairs. Down the bottom Mycroft and Sherlock were sitting, just looking at each other. Knowing them, they were probably having some sort of conversation without words. John leant over the banister and asked again, "Why is there a cat in my room?"

Mycroft and Sherlock both looked up. Mycroft smiled.

"The cat is a birthday present. According to files you turned twelve a week or so ago. And the broom is a welcome home present."

John frowned slightly. He'd forgotten it was his birthday while in captivity. He shook his head, not willing to dwell on the thought.

"Okay. Right. Does it have a name?"

Mycroft shook his head. "It's your pet, so it's your job."

John nodded silently, and walked back up to his room. The cat was laying down, looking at him with those blue eyes. Hesitantly, he scratched it under it's chin. The cat purred, and John couldn't help but smile at the small thing. When he stopped, the blue eyes flicked open. They weren't a pale blue, but a deep one. The same colour as his space ship, or his screwdriver. That beautiful, TARDIS blue. The thing looked like it had been gifted by the Doctor's ship. And he smiled at his pet. He closed his eyes, tying to find a suitable name. It came to him in an instant.

"Rose."

That afternoon John was sitting in his room when an owl swooped in. It simply deposited something on his bed. John instantly recognised the wrapping paper with the Gallifreyan symbols, and noted that it was a soft package. He once again carefully picked open the wrapping paper, careful not to smudge the Gallifreyan symbols. Slowly, he pulled out what was inside. A long scarf flopped out of the package and onto his bed, and suddenly he was hit with more memories.

He was standing opposite to a blond girl wearing his outfit. His! He had to admit, it did look good on her. After all, he was an extremely fashionable man. Of course, Romana was good at knowing how to win him over. The other Gallifreyan was one of his few companions who would happily argue with him about everything and anything.

He wached as the man before him punched out the creature, saving the whole of the human race.

Leela.

Sarah Jane.

K-9.

John stared at the scarf, memories of wearing it burned into his mind. He carefully put it aside, and smiled as Rose strutted over to it and curled up. He watched the tiny cat curl up in his scarf for a minute, before he looked at the note on the wrapping paper.

'Did you like Moriarty? I think he's fun, for a human. I never understood why you liked the useless species so much, but now... I think I can see a bit. Also, the Gallifreyan message to your genius friend. Very good, Doctor. Better than I expected.'

John was temped to throw the paper away from him, getting rid of the thing. The taunt. But, instead, he calmly folded it in half and put it in his diary. He stared at the thing, knowing he needed to write new entries in. Things he remembered, things that had happened. However, he just couldn't. Not at all. Not this time. He needed a day - perhaps a week - where he just did other stuff. Not thinking about it at all. He put the journal down, shaking his head at it. To his surprise, there was another tap at his window. He opened it and an own flew in, a tiny scrap of paper tied to it's leg. Circular Gallifreyan.

'Coward.'